


Attack Dogs Are Sweet When You Get To Know Them

by Not_You



Series: She Who Must Be Obeyed (And Other Stuff) [2]
Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Play, Barebacking, Carrying, Comfort Food, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kneeling, Light Bondage, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, Temperature Play, Vibrators, frank's family is dead as usual, joan is tiny and that's adorable, reference to sexual dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening in the life of Frank and Joan, as set up in 'She Who Must Be Obeyed.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attack Dogs Are Sweet When You Get To Know Them

Joan is always waiting when Frank comes home, and sometimes he feels like a real asshole for how much he likes that. She's basically agoraphobic and he's totally enabling her, but at home she's safe. She's not too afraid to run out if there's a real danger like the building catching fire, and this way she's behind walls and locks and two alarms and Frank's own booby traps that she puts up with because she loves him. She puts up with a lot because of that, and it's a relief to lock everything behind him and kneel as she comes up to him.

Maria had been a knockout, and Joan is definitely not, but she has her own beauty. Big dark eyes and olive skin and auburn hair, an odd combination that brings a weird gravity to her pointed little face, with its disproportionately generous lips with their slight worried downturn. Joan has a hard time sleeping sometimes, but bags under her eyes don't keep her from starting straight into Frank's fucking soul. She does it now, little bare feet padding into view. It makes him grumble because it's a cool, rainy day and she has slippers, he fucking bought her three pairs of slippers, but then she's tipping his chin up and smiling down at him and nothing else matters.

“Hi,” she says, brushing raindrops out of his hair. “How's my boy today?”

“Better since getting home, miss.” When they're alone together their voices change, hers firmer and his softer, and he can hear it now.

“Good,” she says, still petting him. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat, miss.”

“Sweet boy, shower and I'll feed us.”

“Yes, miss,” he says, and sighs through his nose when she bends down to kiss him. He's a hulking man-beast and Joan is tiny, so it's easy to meet her halfway, standing on his knees. His hands move to her hips and she lets them stay there. Early on she told him that for her, being in charge wasn't always about saying 'no.' He has been doing his best to feed Joan, but her meds make her nauseated and marijuana makes her paranoid about the police before she smokes it and worse after, so she's a little bony. He grips the basic architecture of her hips and feels a sudden surge of need that barely has anything to do with sex. Years into this thing, he's still not sure what to do with it sometimes.

“Miss?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Miss, please let me hold you.” He's already holding onto her, but what he means is that he wants to pick her up and carry her with him for a while. Joan is probably about ninety-eight pounds at five-four, and is very easy and comforting for Frank to cradle and carry. He has to ask permission, though. People have used Joan's size against her in the past, and Frank never wants to make her feel trapped or humiliated instead of protected and adored.

“You may, because you're a good boy,” she says. That's always why he may. Only the reasons he may not ever change, and it's never because he doesn't deserve to. Now he stands and scoops her up, cuddling her like a doll or a child as he goes to get a towel, nuzzling her hair on the way to the shower and as always, being soothed by the warm, living scent of her. She waits for him to get his clothes off and to get the water right before kissing him and making her noiseless way to the kitchen.

Frank doesn't linger, but by the time he steps out of the bathroom the place is full the scent of cooking. Joan has a tendency toward old-fashioned Midwestern meat and potatoes, and that suits Frank just fine. He puts on a robe and takes his clothes to the hamper before he forgets, because Joan hates it when he leaves them lying around even more than Maria had. He's mostly past feeling guilty for totally unavoidable parallels and comparisons, but he stills feels a certain extra solicitousness when he comes into the kitchen. Bless her heart, Joan is wearing slippers now, the nice fluffy pink ones that really keep her warm. She looks up, because Frank always does his best not to sneak up on her, consciously making little noises to announce his presence.

She smiles. “You look much more comfortable, sweetheart.”

“I am, miss,” he says, and goes to give her a careful hug from behind, not getting in the way of her skinny arms as she turns a pork chop in the skillet. “Especially after wearing another goddamn slingshot for three hours. Doesn't anybody else care about their balls? I'm only willing to torture mine because I'm getting paid.”

She chuckles. “Poor baby. You never were much of a masochist.”

“True, miss,” he says, kissing the top of her head and then letting go of her to set the table for two. He likes kneeling at her feet, but keeping the kitchen floor clean enough and having cushions on hand without having them underfoot is too much of a hassle. That done, he takes over chopping and steaming the broccoli, which he eats solely because Joan insists on a green vegetable with every meal. She smiles at him because she knows that, and once everything he actually wants is on his plate, he devours every bit of malodorous green horror and then gets the taste out of his mouth with three pork chops and a mound of potatoes, all crisped to perfection. Joan giggles at his efforts, and he pauses to tell her to eat more, which he always does. At least this time she finishes a single chop and an appreciable amount of the other things before calling a halt.

“I know you worry,” she says as he clears the table, “but I really did have a late lunch.”

Joan is honest about things like that, so Frank just nods and gets the kitchen squared away, shivering happily when Joan loops the belt of his robe around his neck and leads him to their bedroom. He stands at attention beside the bed and lets Joan pull the robe off and set it aside. It's funny. After his time in the army and being a goddamn fetish model, he shouldn't feel it so much. He's been naked in front of all kinds of people for a cornucopia of reasons, but something about being stripped by Joan always gets him right in the gut. He whimpers when she steps in to press a kiss between his shoulder blades, and she wraps her skinny little arms around his waist.

“Such a good boy,” she says softly, just holding him for a long moment, letting their breathing fall into the same rhythm. “Onto the bed now, sweetheart. Left side, hands to the post.” It's one of their standard positions, and Frank shifts into it easily. He curls up a little and closes his eyes, trying not to whimper too much as Joan binds his wrists together and then to the bedpost. She always uses something soft, something gentle that won't hurt him. Sometimes it actually makes him fucking cry, but tonight his chest just tightens up a little, and he fights to stay quiet as she drapes her clothes over his robe, and makes a noise of piteous gratitude when she pushes two fingers into his mouth, cuddling in against his back and softly telling him what a good boy he is. She has the softest skin, and the touch of her hard nipples is driving him crazy.

“Please, miss, please,” Frank gasps, tugging at his bindings. He has no idea what Joan has planned, specifically. She's not the least bit into orgasm denial, but she has issues with vaginismus, probably related to having to run screaming from a creepy uncle at a tender age (and the fucker better be glad he's already dead of lung cancer, because Frank would have found a way to make his death even less pleasant,) as well as the general tensing that comes with her anxiety. There are a lot of alternatives, and Frank has long gotten over his initial hesitation at some of them. Now Joan rubs soothing circles on his chest and tells him that she's got him, that she'll take care of him. 

Once he's just panting softly again, she rises up on her knees and reaches across him, pulling a small vibrator out of the bedside drawer. It's one of his favorites, a self-heating SHIELD model with a strong curve. Joan presses the first switch and holds it against his side as it warms, nibbling the edge of his ear and calling him beautiful the way she always does. He's past contradicting her, and just groans as she uses the hot head of the vibrator to spread lube over his hole. The tip is only about as wide as two of her tiny fingers, and when she guides his left knee up it slips right into him. 

He lets out a quiet little squeak that he can't even feel embarrassed about right now as the curve slides right into him, so hot and pressing at just the right angle to make him squirm and make the same sound about ten more times in a row, mouth hanging open as Joan grinds into him so _hard_. It drops into a low, steady groan as she starts to really fuck him, finding a good rhythm that's deep and slow and constant. Only after Frank has settled into it does she flick the other switch, starting the low, humming vibration. He cries out and writhes, tugging at the restraints again as she pinches his nipples with one hand, the other fucking him faster and faster but staying deep inside him. The friction and the heat are almost the same feeling now, and Frank groans.

“On your back now, boy,” Joan says softly, and shifts to allow Frank to obey. There's more than enough slack in his bindings to let him get onto his back comfortably, and lets out a breathy cry as Joan pushes the vibrator in to its maximum depth again, the feeling even more intense at this angle. “Good?” she asks, crawling up his body to look into his eyes.

“So fucking good, miss,” he gasps, and she shudders, kissing him soft and slow and lingering, her cunt slippery against his belly.

“Good,” she purrs, and slides down onto him because they're exclusive and the pill helps to keep her weight up and take a bit of the edge off of her anxiety. Frank isn't huge, but he's proportionate, and Joan can almost never take all of him, even when she's wet and open like she is now. She settles down by unbearably tiny increments, one hand on each side of Frank's face while she gazes down into his eyes like she wants to consume him.

“Please miss, oh please, please, please...”

She hushes him with a kiss, and then reaches back and down to turn the vibration up to maximum. Frank curses and sobs, and she coos to him about how she can feel it through him, panting and moaning as she rocks on the last three inches of his cock, giving what she can't fit the occasional loving squeeze with one tiny hand.

“Come for me, boy,” she pants, “come for me, I want to feel it.” He really has no choice at this point, sobbing and bucking under her, turning his head to hide his face in his own shoulder or the pillow until Joan makes him look up at her again, kissing him and swallowing up his desperate little noises as his climax finally ends. She switches off the vibration but leaves the toy inside him and the warmer on, holding him and petting him and covering him in kisses, telling him again and again what a good boy he is as he catches his breath.

Joan cleans both of them up before untying Frank's hands so he'll be comfortable when she straddles his face and not have to taste himself too much, and he moans softly as she settles onto him and guides his hands onto her hips. She rides him slowly and then faster, covering his face in tangy slick and making her almost inaudible sounds of pleasure, silent and shaking when she comes. Frank feels exhausted and like he could stay here forever, licking and suckling gently at her even as she pulls away, panting. She grins at him and tenderly washes his face before sliding the toy out of him and switching it off. She goes over it with a wet wipe and then sets it aside for real cleaning later, cuddling into Frank's arms and letting him cling to her and she tells him yet again how much she loves her good boy.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, go read this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8340385
> 
> It's a gorgeous piece and provides all the Frank backstory I was too squeamy to write.


End file.
